Still Water (41 page)

He tried the radio again, switching channels constantly. “Kate. Can you hear me? Kate this is Matt Jones. Move the boat. You hear me, you have to move. The Seawind is heading right for you.”

He hit the starter again, and suddenly the engine caught and fired, and the throaty growl of the engine filled the air as a cloud of blue smoke rose from the stern.

Baxter appeared down below. “He’s going to ram her,” he called out.

The Seawind had picked up speed and was bearing down on the still stationary Santorini. Matt pushed hard on the throttle and the stern of the launch settled deep in the water as the screws bit and thrust her forward, the growl of the engine became a roar as the bow rose and planed over the surface and wind and spray were flung back in a fine mist, but Matt knew they wouldn’t make it.

Dead ahead Kate at last became aware of the danger and she rose and ran for the wheel-house. The Santorini began to move.

“Come on,” Matt urged. His knuckles were white where he gripped the wheel. The Santorini gathered speed with agonizing slowness. Kate was clearly visible in the wheel-house as she spun the wheel in a desperate attempt to narrow the angle of impact when it became inevitable that the Seawind intended to ram her.

Aboard the Seawind, Penman raced for the wheel-house, and it seemed that maybe he was going to try and stop Jake, but he was too late. The two boats collided, the Santorini bearing the impact towards the stern as the Seawind struck her and began to push her round and plough her under as if she was no more than a toy. Kate ran out on to the deck and was pitched headlong, her arms thrown out to break her fall. The little boat was lifted half out of the water and it seemed as if she would turn turtle and go all the way over. Matt caught a glimpse of Ella’s limp form tossed across the deck, then the force and momentum of the collision pushed the Santorini around and she crashed against the side of the Seawind as it passed by. There was a horrendous screeching and tearing of wood and metal, then the Seawind was clear. Matt reached the Santorini as she began to go down, and he spun the wheel to bring the launch alongside and pulled back on the throttle. As the roar of the motor abruptly died and the bow settled on to the water he was already leaping for the ladder.

The Santorini was little more than splintered wreckage. The initial impact had almost severed her in two, and already the deck was flooded. Kate was up to her knees in water, surrounded by floating debris and splintered shards of planking. She waded, half dazed, throwing things aside as she searched for Ella.

Baxter reached out to her from the stern deck. “Take my hand,” he yelled.

She had a cut on her forehead and her face was streaked with blood, and when she turned at the sound of his voice her expression registered shock and confusion. He reached over and hauled her aboard and as he did Matt climbed up on to the side of the launch. For just a split second all the old terror welled up in him, and the water appeared suddenly cold and forbidding and his muscles constricted convulsively, then the last of the Santorini went under, water flooding across a third of her deck in an instant, welling up over the wheel-house, and as she sank he glimpsed Ella’s inert form wedged in a gash in the wrecked side.

Then he hit the water, and it closed over him like a grave.

The sudden change of temperature, and the deadening of sound was like a cold but oddly comforting embrace. It was the realization of a long held fear, and as such it possessed a certain macabre familiarity. At the same time a storm of impulses was unleashed and threatened to engulf Matt in panic. Some small segment of his consciousness remained a detached observer. He heard his father’s voice from so long ago telling himself and Paulie that if they ever got in trouble not to panic. “Conserve your energy. People who panic end up drowned,” he used to say. Images of the time when they had capsized in the cove flashed like star-bursts and he recalled the feeling of inertia that had almost overcome him in the end. He’d given up, and if Paulie hadn’t grabbed him he would have drowned that day. The fear only really came afterwards as he lay on the beach gasping for air and choking up sea water. He’d glimpsed his own death and escaped, and forever after he’d felt as if he’d cheated the ocean, but that one day it would claim him back. Now twenty-five years later time melted and faded so that it was like the blink of an eye.

Above him there was light, warmth and air within reach, and this time there was no squall, no storm except the one in his mind, and he knew he could strike out and reach the surface.

Below him the Santorini was fast settling into the depths where the light grew rapidly dim.

Live! a voice commanded with almost overpowering authority. He almost surrendered, but with a conscious effort he fought against his instinct and instead swam down.

His lungs burned though only seconds had passed. He looked for Ella and found her caught up in the wreckage, her eyes closed and hair floating around her face, gradually falling from him in slow motion. He couldn’t tell if she was alive or dead. He grasped one hand that floated free and felt her residual warmth, then he tugged at the splintered wood where she was held fast. It started to come away, but the effort greedily devoured the oxygen in his muscles and he could feel his heart struggle to cope with the dwindling supply. His mind was operating on different levels. With one part he struggled to free Ella, while with another he witnessed a flashing series of images from his life. Kirstin; and then Alex sleeping quietly as an infant, his features placid and untroubled; himself standing at Paulie’s graveside on a cold October afternoon as the words of the minister were swept away on the wind; Ella on the dock that night after the meeting when he had first kissed her, knowing suddenly that she was all he wanted or needed in his life to make it whole again.

He couldn’t free her. As he struggled his strength began to drain. He was aware of the exchange of oxygen from lungs to the blood; its flow to his brain and muscles, driven by the engine house of his body. His heart was a machine, a powerful industrial monster, thumping its rhythm in a big cavernous basement, but it was growing slower, the machinery straining and groaning, and his blood was becoming sluggish, growing darker as the oxygen was used up. A dark spot formed in his brain and expanded as the cells began to die.

He was hallucinating and he knew it.

In his last few moments he looked at Ella and she appeared to be asleep, at peace, and he was tempted to simply hold her and relinquish life. A protesting inner voice caused him to look up towards the surface and through the shimmering water the light seemed distant but beautiful, and it summoned him. With the final reserves of his strength he gripped the jagged planking that held Ella fast and one more time he pulled. Muscles popped and gave, tendons stretched and howled in protest, and then she was free and he held her and kicked for the surface. His lungs burned and bright lights whizzed and exploded in his brain then faded as a veil of blackness swept over him and he put his mouth to hers and surrendered, thinking they had been so close, and with his thoughts he told her that he loved her. Then he gasped and instead of filling his lungs with water he breathed air as his face broke the surface of the sea.

A second before the shock of the impact Jake glimpsed Ella lying motionless on the deck of the Santorini. He staggered off balance as the two boats collided, and the Seawind shuddered in protest and almost stopped in the water, and then her powerful engines drove her forward and the screws churned their wake into a mass of white foaming water.

Penman appeared in the doorway, clutching at the frame, his face pale. He took one look at Jake, and without saying anything lunged for the throttle. For a moment the two men grappled, then Jake bunched his fist and hit Penman hard in the eye. Penman uttered a short grunt and stepped backwards, throwing out his arms for balance, but then he shook his head like a dog that’d been kicked in the mouth, and charged forward again, latching both hands on to the wheel.

“You’ll kill them,” he said.

Jake grabbed a handful of Penman’s hair and yanked his head back, then shoved it forward as hard as he could against the wheel. There was a dull sound and Penman groaned and slid to the floor, his legs buckling. The Santorini scraped by, grating and splintering as she went. Jake could see that she was already sinking, and he put Ella from his mind and turned his attention back to the orca, steering a course past the reef. He could see the bull’s fin out towards the middle of the cove, the harpoon protruding a few feet behind, each creating a soft rippling wake, one inside the other. The woods of the point were reflected like a mirror image on the surface of still, green water, and the air was soft and quiet like a balm to the vice-like pain in Jake’s head. The dull pounding of the ocean on the reef subsided and Jake cut back the Seawintfs speed.

The bull remained on the surface, and Jake figured it was too weak to hold its breath. Without haste now, he bent and grabbed Penman under the shoulder and dragged him to the door. There was a deep red indentation on his forehead that ran back beneath his hair. Jake wondered if he was dead, but Penman’s chest rose as he took a shallow unconscious breath. He dragged him to the steps above the deck. Down below the men gaped at him. Without pause he tipped Penman over the edge and let him fall in a heap. He went back to the wheel-house and re-emerged carrying his rifle.

“Any man gets in my way I’ll put a bullet in him.”

He waited to see if anyone would challenge him, and when nobody did he went back to the wheel. The orca was just ahead now, and Jake slowed the boat to a crawl. He wondered if the sonofabitch would try to get around him and head back for open sea, and acting on this thought he used the butt of his rifle to smash the window, then aimed through the space and squeezed off a shot. A small plume of water rose twenty feet behind the orca’s dorsal fin and Jake adjusted the angle and fired off three rapid shots. The orca responded by picking up its pace and the fin slipped below the surface.

Jake chuckled. “How’s that feel, you big bastard? You’re not so goddamned smart now I guess.” He went outside and checked each side of the boat, ready if the bull tried to double back. The water was dark green, and reflected light made it hard to see past the surface. He was certain that at least a couple of his shots had found their mark, and he was pretty sure the orca wouldn’t be able to stay down for long. Even if it made for the open sea, he would be able to catch it and finish it off.

He waited, but there was no sign of the orca. Several minutes passed, and Jake checked behind, but all around the cove remained undisturbed. He wondered if he’d underestimated it.

“Come on, dammit, where the hell are you?” he muttered.

As if in answer he heard the animal breathe, a blow of air from in front, and he saw the bull’s dorsal fin rise several hundred yards ahead.

Jake grinned. “There you are. What did you think? You think old Jake would just go away if you stayed under long enough?”

He glanced at the deck where the crew had carried Penman back to the stern and one of them looked up.

“He’s hurt pretty bad,” he said. “I think we need to get him to a hospital.”

Jake ignored him and went back to the wheel. He increased speed a little. The orca was barely moving now, just floating and making feeble movements with its flukes. Jake shut the throttle right down, judging the moment so that the Seawind could drift up alongside. He reloaded the rifle, and stepped out the door. He paused for a moment, and was struck by how peaceful everything seemed now. The pain in his head had receded. All around, the high wooded hills of the point and the mountains inland rose to a clear sky. The water of the cove looked like a painting, barely disturbed by a ripple, deep and green and soothing. Ella was dead, Jake knew that, and she had gotten what she deserved. He guessed he was going to have to face some questions when he got back, maybe he’d even go to jail, but he didn’t regret what he’d done. If he looked ahead, beyond the orca, beyond the finger of the jetty that poked out into the cove, beyond the strip of pale beach, he could see a glimpse of white in the trees where Bryan’s house stood in the clearing.

Jake went down to the bow. It was time to finish this. Just lean over the side and put a bullet in the orca’s brain. He waited as the Seawind drifted closer. He wanted to look into the bull’s eye when he pulled the trigger.

Unexpectedly, with a smooth and almost silent passage, the orca vanished, slipping beneath the surface.

Jake ran to the side, the rifle raised, but he couldn’t see anything. He leaned over, and squinted against the light, peering into the depths, trying to see beyond the reflection. He knew the cove wasn’t too deep here. The ground fell away rapidly from the shore then levelled out for a hundred yards before dropping away again into a deep hole. But right where they were it couldn’t be more than ten fathoms or so.

He thought he saw something. He looked harder, and far below, resting on the seabed, a vaguely familiar form took shape. He leaned further over the rail trying to make it out. His throat felt tight and there was a hammering of rushing blood in his ears. The object became clearer, and a suspicion formed in Jake’s mind. He caught his breath.

At the back of the Seawind Penman had come around, though he was groggy and his head felt as if he’d been hit with a sack of cement. The others helped him to sit.

“Where’s Jake?” he mumbled groggily.

Someone jerked a thumb towards the bow. Penman leaned against the rail, and turned to spit bloody phlegm overboard and as he did his vision blurred a little and he felt sick, but even so he was sure he caught sight of a great, dark shape flash past, travelling like a locomotive beneath the surface of the water. He thought he glimpsed patches of white, and then in the blink of an eye it was gone.

He turned a puzzled look to the men beside him. “I thought I saw…” He shook his head as his voice trailed away.

From towards the bow they heard the sound of erupting water and then a gigantic splash and the air was filled with a spreading fan-like wall of spray which dispersed to rain down on the deck, shot through with sunlight so that for an instant a hazy rainbow appeared above the Seawind. They heard the pattern of droplets hitting the surface then once again it was quiet, save for the ripples that slapped gently against the side of the boat.